


Blurred Vision

by loves_books



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1700828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James was sure he remembered putting in his contact lenses that morning. But he was also sure he wasn't quite thinking straight. Something was happening, something very wrong, but he knew Lewis was there. Which meant everything would be okay, eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blurred Vision

Everything was blurry. James was fairly sure things shouldn’t be this blurry, though he also was fairly sure he wasn’t thinking straight for some reason which currently escaped him. He thought he remembered putting in his contact lenses that morning, and that usually meant things were crystal clear rather than blurry, so maybe he hadn’t put them in after all.

No, he definitely remembered putting them in. How could he forget – it had been the first time he’d used the tiny lens cleaning kit he’d stashed at Lewis’s house for emergencies. He’d nearly forgotten about it until the older man reminded him last night, and it had touched him more than he wanted to admit to find the black leather pouch in pride of place in the bathroom cabinet, beside what had to be Lewis’s own shaving foam and razor.

This morning seemed like a long time ago now, though James really did suspect he wasn’t thinking straight. Perhaps it had only been moments rather than hours. Perhaps it was only midmorning, and the darkness outside the window was a figment of his imagination. Or maybe it wasn’t a window. Things really were a little blurry.

Someone shook him, suddenly, and something hard and cold was pushing into the side of his throat. He tried to move away, but there was a strong hand on his shoulder, and his head felt heavy, and things were blurry, and something was wrong – 

“Let him go, man.” A voice. Familiar, but it sounded too worried to register immediately in James’s fuzzy brain. “You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to hurt him.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezed tighter, fingers digging in beneath his collarbone, and James flinched involuntarily, blinking his eyes and trying to see what was happening around him. “I haven’t got a choice,” someone shouted from above him and behind him. The owner of the hand, perhaps? “What have I got left? Everything’s gone.”

“Hurting Sergeant Hathaway won’t bring them back.” It was that familiar voice again, and James suddenly realised who it was. Lewis. Of course it was Lewis. Or maybe he should think of him as Robbie now, after last night. “Let him go. Put down the gun and let him go.”

Gun. That was the hard and cold something that was pressing against his throat, making it hard to swallow and impossible to speak. It hurt, a little, and James vaguely thought it would probably leave a deep bruise. Stupid to worry about that, of course, when it was far more likely he’d be shot through the neck.

With that thought, the haziness of his thoughts seemed to clear a little, though the blurriness of his vision remained. Gun. There was a man with a gun. They’d chased him, him and Lewis, trying to stop him from killing himself. James remembered opening a door, slowly, cautiously, then nothing.

Voices above him and around him, two voices talking, one worried yet calm and one clearly at the end of his tether. Lewis – Robbie – was trying to talk the man down. Trying to get him to put down the gun, the barrel of which was pressing deeper and harder into James’s throat. 

What a way to go. Doing the jobs they did, this was always a risk. They’d both been shot before, both him and Lewis – Robbie – but they’d always bounced back. Glancing blows. Scratches, rather than deep bullet wounds. No way to bounce back from a bullet through the throat, though, James knew. Not a pleasant way to go.

His head hurt too much to care, really, and things were still blurry. He couldn’t focus his eyes properly, the room around him all dark shadows and moving shapes. One shape in particular was moving slowly and steadily forwards, towards him and the man with the gun – it bothered James suddenly that he couldn’t remember the man’s name. He’d lost his wife and his daughter, James remembered that much. But his name…

“Herman, they wouldn’t want you to do this.” Robbie’s voice cut back into James’s drifting thoughts. That was right; Herman Ford, and his wife had been – “Alice and Nicky, they wouldn’t want you to do this. We’ve got the man who killed them, you know that. This won’t bring them back.”

The hand gripping James shook him again, startling a groan of pain out of him as that gun was pushed impossibly deeper. His head was really starting to hurt worse now, and he was suddenly aware of something warm and wet trickling down the right side of his face. There was a pounding, throbbing pain behind his right eye, and a vague memory surfaced of opening the door slowly, cautiously, hearing Robbie shout a warning from behind him, something heavy crashing down on him – 

Blinking hard now, trying desperately to focus his eyes, James struggled to make out the shape he knew had to be Robbie. He was talking to Herman again, the words indistinct as James’s hearing faded out, but he was right there in front of James. Steady, rock solid. But worried, and scared, James could hear that much in the tone of the older man’s voice.

Not fair, that it might end for him like this, not when the two of them had finally taken the next step. Robbie shouldn’t have to watch James die. He’d blame himself, James knew, though it wasn’t his fault. They’d thought Herman was going to shoot himself, not attack them. They’d both been desperate to save one life that day, even if they hadn’t been able to save Alice and little Nicola. 

James’s head felt heavier now, only the pressure of the gun keeping it upright. It wasn’t fair. They’d started the day full of hope, though they hadn’t had time to talk about it. Waking up in his Guvnor’s bed had been the last thing he’d expected, even though he’d often dreamed about it. Robbie’s arms had been wrapped tightly around him, James’s head resting on the older man’s chest, the comforting beat of his steady heart lulling him towards wakefulness.

It should have been awkward, perhaps, but somehow it hadn’t been. Perhaps they’d both known it was coming. They’d been closer than even the best of friends for some long months now, little touches lingering and exchanging meaningful glances. They couldn’t even blame alcohol or the stress of a terrible case for ending up in bed together – yesterday had been blissfully routine, no murders, just paperwork and a quiet drink together at the end of the day. 

A quiet drink that had led to James curling up by Robbie’s side on the sofa as they watched late night telly. And when Robbie had taken his hand and tugged him gently towards the bedroom, no words had been needed. Nothing had happened between them, nothing more than cuddling in just their underwear, and several kisses which had left James breathless, before they both fell asleep. But the promise of more had been there, under the surface. A promise for what the future might hold.

More shouting now, and James frowned, wishing he could get rid of the blurriness in his vision and the darkness that seemed to be falling all around him. He wanted to see Robbie, to see his man. To look into his eyes and offer an apology, even if he couldn’t say it out loud. An apology for not being fast enough to get away, when he’d opened the door to find the butt of a gun flying towards the side of his head. For not finding the strength to struggle now, to try to push this grieving widower away. For not having the chance to see where it might lead, whatever this thing was between the two of them.

“Hathaway? James, man, open your eyes!” Robbie’s voice cut through again, and James blinked heavily, exhausted. The hand gripping his shoulder shifted suddenly, tangling up into his hair and tugging tight, the sharp sting of pain startling a gasp out of him. “Herman, you have to let him go. You heard the sirens; you know there are armed officers outside. There’s no way out of here. You won’t gain anything by hurting him more.”

The hand in his hair tugged again, harder and more insistent, and James somehow understood he was being asked to stand. It hadn’t registered until that moment that he was on his knees, slumped back against a pair of shaking legs – Herman had been holding him upright this whole time, and it was disturbing to realise how much had passed him by. He hadn’t heard the sirens, either.

The blurriness was probably due to a concussion, James concluded as he fought to get his feet underneath him, the gun now pressing under his chin and forcing his aching head back at a painful angle as the hand in his hair tugged harder. His eyes were open, or at least he thought they were open, but he could barely make out Robbie’s outline now. Instead, he focussed on the memory of that morning, of waking to a pair of sleepy blue eyes, and a craggy yet handsome face smiling down at him.

No awkwardness, just the warmest smile, and a far warmer kiss. James had shifted until he was practically lying on top of the older man, and they’d kissed slowly and leisurely until the alarm had gone off, disturbing the moment. Not five minutes later, Robbie’s phone had rung to summon them both to a crime scene immediately, and there had been no time to talk. Robbie had reminded James of his contact lens kit, and quietly offered to let him use the bathroom first.

The first moment of awkwardness, then. Had it been a one-night thing? Was this something they were just never going to mention again? James had nodded silently, wishing he knew what to say, having dreamed of a morning just like that one for so long. But Robbie had known exactly what to say and do, just as he always did. We’ll talk later, he’d murmured softly, offering James another kiss and calling him ‘pet’. Then, almost as if he’d known what James was thinking, he’d added, I don’t do one night stands, unless that’s all you want this to be?

No, James had whispered back with a smile, stealing one more kiss before they were both up and moving, hurrying into their suits and dashing out to the car, Robbie driving and James directing. And the chaos of the day had swept them up, the discovery of one dead woman followed swiftly by the body of her daughter. Herman’s family had been torn from him in one horrendous day – the act of Alice’s estranged brother, they’d discovered quickly. Could anyone blame the grieving man for snapping the way he had?

“Get up, damn it!” The hand in his hair tugged again, and the gun pushed James’s head back further. He wished it was a conscious decision to resist, but his legs simply refused to cooperate, though he tried, he really did. “Come on, get up! I’ll shoot you, I will, I swear it – ”

“No!” Robbie’s shout was loud, and there was suddenly more shouting, and the sound of doors banging open and other voices and gunfire. 

Gunfire. And James was falling forwards, helpless to stop himself, knowing it had to be over. Wishing he had the strength left to call to Robbie, to apologise. To tell him everything would have worked out, somehow. That he was so glad for the one night they’d had.

Gunfire, and he had to be dead. Had to be. Point blank range. The fall seemed endless, his vision nothing but a sea of blackness now, not even a blurry shadow to be seen. No Robbie.

Gunfire, louder then suddenly silent, the shouting of angry voices and heavy footsteps filling the air instead. And James was still falling. Then, suddenly, he wasn’t.

Strong arms around his shaking body, cradling him gently and easing him down, cushioning his fall. James found himself half lying on someone’s lap, and half sprawled on the uneven wooden floor, his heavy and throbbing head supported in steady arms.

“Easy, lad, I’ve got you. I’ve got you now.” Robbie, of course, worry still obvious in his rough voice, and James managed to take a deep breath. He was surprised to realise he’d not been shot after all, somehow, miraculously. A rough wool suit was soft against his cheek as he turned his head a fraction, the familiar scent of Robbie’s cologne filling his lungs, along with the unique smell he associated with the older man. It was comforting beyond all belief. “Open your eyes for me, James?”

“Sir…” he managed to croak, forcing the words past his bruised throat, though his eyes just wouldn’t obey him. “Can’t…”

“Okay, then. Just lie still, the paramedics are on their way up.” Up? Oh, James suddenly remembered, they were on the fifth floor. Damn Oxford and its old buildings. No lifts. “Hold on, pet,” Robbie whispered, one gentle hand stroking through James’s hair, careful to avoid the pulsing lump by his right eye. “Hold on.”

The sounds of shouting and a scuffle were still audible in the room, and James dimly wondered if that was why Robbie had felt safe enough to call him by that wonderful little name. A ‘pet’ name, literally, and the thought would have made him laugh if his throat hadn’t hurt so much. Instead, he let himself drift, soothed by that gentle hand and comforted by the strength of the older man’s body.

“Sir,” he whispered again as the shadows drew closer, wishing he dared say ‘Robbie’. He sighed softly, the pain in his head fading now he was lying down, though he’d be grateful when the paramedics finally arrived. Should say something else too, perhaps, but nothing came to mind other than – “Sir…”

“Hush, pet. Be still.” Perhaps it was just the concussion, but it felt like Robbie was rocking him now, ever so slowly. It was soothing beyond measure. “You’re going to be just fine. I won’t have it any other way. Especially not now.”

Not after last night, James heard, and it gave him the strength to smile, even though he suspected it might appear on his face as more of a grimace. “I’ll be fine,” he managed, and he knew it was true. More than that, though – “We’ll be fine.”

Things became even more blurred after that, a blur of soft voices and steady hands and yet more voices, but it didn’t matter to James. Because the whole time he was aware of Robbie by his side, even when he was lifted from the cocoon of those strong arms and laid carefully onto a stretcher. Eventually things wouldn’t be so blurred, and he would be able to see clearly once again. He would be able to see Robbie’s face, and then everything would be okay.


End file.
